The Winter Of My Discontent

The cold air seems to punch me in the stomach as I walk out.  I can't breath.  Only gasps of air come out and it's as if the cold wind has knocked my mind blank of the process or the ability to think how to breath.  Eventually the initial shock wears off and I find myself able to breath the cold oxygen into my lungs and move my feet forward.  The path is frosted over, deceiving the walker into safety as if saying, "you won't fall on me.  Take big steps, run if you want.  I have no ice hidden underneath me."  It lies though.  I know it lies because I fell on it yesterday.  

I keep moving, one foot in front of the other,  seeing the destination in sight.  All showing extremities have begun to turn unnatural colors and I chide myself for not grabbing a pair of gloves and a hat.  Only a few more steps to the salvation of heating.

The warm air that blasts over me is like stepping into the rays of the sun.  I shiver as the last bit of coldness leaves my body and smile.  My skin tingles in response to the heat and I sigh in contentment.   The warmth feels amazing but I only have to look back out the door to know that soon I'll have to go back out into the cold, facing the evilness of winter.

The next day I prepared myself with a  sweatshirt, jacket, gloves, hat, and scarf.  One last breath of heater oxygen and I brace myself for the weather.  It never comes.  Apparently it's 40 degrees today.